Rown of Cantre
by Lightish Red
Summary: This story is being left to rot for now... An orphan of the Scanran War and adopted princess, one girl must find her place in Tortall. Familiar characters make apperances, but this is truly Rown's story.
1. Prologue

**Rown of Cantre**

Author's Note: It has been a few years since I read Tamora Pierce's works, but this story is based from my writings on Tortall. Excuse my mistakes and please allow for artistic license. I do not claim any of Pierce's characters as my own.

This story takes place a bit of time after Keladry—girls are allowed to be knights, but women warriors are still frowned upon by many.

* * *

PROLOGUE

A merry fire danced in the hearth of a comfortable palace room; it was a rare quiet evening for the entire family, one that was usually torn apart by duty and troubles. A ten year old child looked up from her game as the tall door swung open. Her inquisitive blue eyes fell upon Sir Cole, the man who had brought her from home all the way to Corus and the palace of Tortall. She would have run over to him, skirts hiked up over her knees to ask for a piggyback ride, but the look on his face stopped her—something was terribly wrong if Sir Cole looked distressed.

The girl silently watched him step over to her 'aunt' and 'uncle,' the Tortallan Queen Thayet and King Jonathan. Not her real relatives of course, but the girl's mother had been a close friend of the Queen's in her private guard of women before the child's father had stolen her away to marry him. But that was in the past.

Right now the adults were whispering and sending sympathetic looks in the girl's direction. Roald and Kalasin had joined their parents to learn the news; Liam and Lianne looked up from their place reading by the hearth's light. The youngest child stared back at the grown-ups levelly, even when cousin Jasson tugged on her arm. "It's your turn, Rown!" he whined, pointing at the stones board.

Rown ignored the youngest prince and stood, refusing to wait for someone to tell her what was going on. The girl tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder and marched to the settee where the King and Queen were seated. "Tell me what's happened," she demanded.

Sir Cole met her eyes squarely and kneeled before her, taking the child's tiny, delicate hands in his large, rough ones. "Little One, you are going to stay in the palace with your cousins, so the King and Queen can take care of you," he told her softly.

"Why?" she asked, already knowing the answer, but not wanting it to be true. "Sir Cole, where are Mama and Papa and Nic?" Her throat was tight, eyes filling with tears, but Rown refused to let them out.

The Knight's honey brown orbs gazed sadly at the little girl before him. He had been charged with protecting her, but now he had to deliver a blow himself. "They won't be coming, Little One. You know those men who attacked Cantre before we left? They came back with more…" The man had to swallow hard; he had lost many friends as well. "Your parents and brother fought as hard as they could, and we should be proud and honor them."

The little girl sniffed a few times, but would not let a tear slide down her cheek. The big knight wrapped his arms around her, and Rown still not cry. She would be proud, not sad. That is how her father would have wanted it.


	2. Rebel

CHAPTER 1

6 Years Later…

The morning air was freshened by a light breeze, and the sun shone clearly through scattered clouds on this late summer's day. A teenage girl sat propped up against the base of a tree trunk. Her brown hair had a golden sheen to it and her bright blue eyes moved lazily around the slight clearing.

She glanced over at her bay gelding grazing peacefully at the side of the road. He had a leather halter on but no saddle; Rown preferred a bareback ride when galloping because she could direct her steed better without a hunk of leather separating her legs from his sides. He was alert, neither dozing nor alarmed by the change of scenery after years of living on the palace grounds. The girl and her horse had preformed this same ride at least twice a week for the last six months.

The girl pulled out an old, tarnished gold backed mirror. She lovingly rubbed the prints off its surface like she had done every single day after finding it in the garden when she was a child. She turned it over and to reread the familiar inscription, then set it one the ground beside her.

The mirror began to wobble on the ground, and that was all she needed to know. "Three… two… one," she counted, tilting her head to the side. Sure enough, the sound of several cantering hooves met her ear. She picked up the mirror, slipped it in its secret pocket, and reached for her water.

A whisper in the wind caught her attention, and she turned her head. For a moment she could have sworn she saw two figures in the trees. Shaking her head, she tilted the bottle back and felt the sun warmed water run down her throat.

The girl was just draining the canteen when a mounted squad of soldiers led by a full knight arrived. "It's about time," she taunted them as they halted in response to the Knight's hand signal. "'Tardiness costs lives in battle,' Sir Cole," she quoted an old saying of war, taunting the man who had been her father's squire long ago.

"I doubt you know anything about battle. Things like that aren't meant for the heads of pretty, young maidens," he replied mockingly to the young woman he still saw as a child. "Now, must we continue this, Your Highness?"

She scrambled to her feet in a feeble attempt to meet his laughing brown eyes with an icy blue glare. She knew that the men on horseback were hiding smiles; she knew her reputation as the "royally spoiled brat," a term she had overheard from the lips of Sir Cole himself.

"Well, you might as well get on your beast unless you wish me to carry you home on the pommel of my saddle, Rown," the Knight continued.

The girl turned and clipped the reins to her horse's halter to hide the blush spreading across her face. She led him to a rock so she could slide onto his bare back. Without a word she dug her heels into the gelding's sides and cantered off. The squad automatically formed their perimeter around her with Sir Cole taking the head as they rode home.

* * *

Rown, having shed her breeches for a green silk dress, slumped in the plush chair facing the ornate, polished desk in her private parlor. She pulled a dark wood box toward her and used the silver key from a hidden pocket to unlock it, briefly brushing her fingertips over the relief carving of a horse on the top and glancing at the matching horse running on the shining key before lifting the lid.

The inside was lined with deep midnight blue velvet and divided into six compartments of equal size. Rown set her precious mirror in one space and picked up a gold chain from another. Two charms hung from it: one that resembled a tiny horseshoe and another that perfectly matched the cantering horse on the box and key. She clasped it around her neck and fiddled with it a moment before turning her attention back to the box.

The girl reached in again and drew a tightly folded piece of parchment from another compartment. Unfolding it revealed a richly detailed coat of arms design in bright blue and gold. The same horse ran across it.

A sharp click behind her warned Rown of an intruder. She closed and locked the box while saying sharply, "Knocking wasn't invented just to make noise."

"I was under the impression that most doors were open to kings," her adopted father replied.

Jumping out of her chair and performing an awkward curtsy, Rown mumbled, "I am truly sorry, sire. I did not realize it was you."

"I heard about your recent escapade outside the walls today." The King of Tortall walked past Rown and turned her desk seat around to sit facing her. He met his ward's eyes directly. His were a much darker shade of blue, and his black hair was interrupted with grey spreading back from his temples. Rown only blinked in response.

"It is dangerous for nobility to venture outside the walls without a guard, Rown. Many groups would be more than happy to have a member of the royal family to ransom. Or bandits could pick you off even sooner. Would your parents have wanted…" The princess knew this speech and tuned out, thinking instead of the thrill of the gallop and the peace of the forest.

She returned to the room as the king's talk wound down. "Promise me you will stop running off. Sir Cole is needed in the palace, not out chasing down rouge princesses."

The slightest nod prompted Jonathan to leave. Rown curtseyed much better this time around. She stepped back over to her desk as the door shut and hid the box in a desk drawer.

* * *

Minutes later Rown could be found back in black breeches and a tightly-laced, oversized white shirt like those worn by soldiers or would-be knights in weaponry practice. The girl was well aware that her attire bordered on the scandalous for her position, even with the new rules on girls in the knighthood, but the palace workers knew better than to question nobility and instead whispered comments to their fellows or stared with wide eyes.

Rown had been branded the 'Orphan of Cantre' from the Scanran War so few years ago. Needless to say, not many recognized this 'new' princess without her tiara and gown, standing with her adopted brothers and sisters; Rown refrained from courtly socializing and was thus only seen from afar at banquets or balls where Jonathan had required her presence. Some day soon she knew her avoidance of dancing with potential suitors would only end in an arranged marriage so that Cantre could be rebuilt with fresh blood, although from what she had gleaned from the fighters who had seen it, her home was now little more than an uninhabitable, mage-exploded shell of a manor surrounded by the ashes of a village. Still the girl dreaded the day when a line of slobbering, attention-seeking young men would plague her.

Rown shook her head free of that terrible train of thought and found herself at her destination—the stables. Bud's nose popped out of his stall door as he heard his human's footsteps approach. He was kept behind a barred door because of his exceptional ability to unlock an ordinary latch and escape to the feed room. The bright bay nickered when the girl slid the door open and offered him a handful of sweet feed, grain mixed in molasses for a treat. He munched it down quickly then worked his tongue over Rown's palm to get every bit of sweetness.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Rown remarked after a look at his muddy coat. Wiping a slimy hand off on her pants, she grabbed a stiff bristled brush, gently knocked a glob of dried mud off the animal's forehead, and set to work on his body.

By the time she finished, a fine layer of horsehair and dust covered her from head to booted toe while Bud's coat shimmered like his copper bit. The white stripe down his face and the sock on his left foreleg practically glowed. Rown exited the stall and latched it firmly behind her. She quickly found a rake and wheelbarrow in the stable boys' storage room, and finding a row of neglected stalls, the princess parked the barrow in the aisle and began sifting through the sawdust.

A young male voice startled Rown out of her shoveling rhythm, "What'd ya do to get muck duty?" She turned to see a stable hand leaning against the doorframe running a hand through black hair. Although he was a foot taller than Rown, she guessed him to be scarcely a year more than her sixteen. After a few moments, he shifted uncomfortably to his other foot, and she realized that she had been staring openly and remaining silent to his question.

"I'm not being punished; I care for horses of my own free will," Rown replied, annoyance apparent in her voice as she leaned on the rake. "Who are you?"

"Pardon me," he replied with a quick bow. "I am Cliff from the Wylde Forest. And you are?"

Rown answered carefully, "You don't know who I am?"

"Considering we just met, I don't know how I could," Cliff countered. His hazel eyes laughed at the obviousness of his statement.

"Good." Rown nodded and returned to the task at hand. Cliff cleared his throat, and Rown turned to face him with a last shovelful of manure. "Still here? Don't you have chores to do? Move!"

He blocked the door with arms crossed over his chest and braced himself. "Name? I didn't catch yours."

"Maybe because I don't just throw my name to every stranger I meet in a barn," she retorted irritably. She shoved his chest with a shoulder, forcing him to step back. Rown dumped the rakeful of muck and walked hastily away from the stables, forgetting the full wheelbarrow sitting in the aisle. She did not slow down until safe inside the residential corridor of the palace. With a sigh, Rown made her way back to her rooms along the familiar tapestry draped hall.

She opened the thick wooden door of her personal parlor. The portal opened to an empty fireplace and seating area clustered around a low, rectangular table. The left wall featured a huge window shining in with the last of evening's light. Her rooms overlooked a small courtyard, one where neglect had allowed vines to crawl up the wall in twisted patterns. Rown loved looking down at it—a wild place that thrived under all the control and order of palace life, or maybe of princess life.

The reluctant princess pulled herself away and stepped through the next doorway into her bedchamber. There a friendly hound dog met her, wagging his tail and rolling on his back to ask for a belly rub. Rown obliged and told him, "Hello, Copper, you are the only one who is always happy to see me." One of the only survivors of the defeat of Cantre, Copper had long forgotten how to hunt, becoming instead the girl's best friend. Unfortunately the moment with her pet had to end. A maid was scurrying around in the dressing room, pouring scented oils into the princess' waiting bath. A light blue silk had already been laid out on the bed as a gown for dinner—tonight Rown was to have a proper meal with the queen and royal children. 'One that should prove to be as dull as any other,' she supposed, sighing and undressing to take her bath.


	3. Obligation

CHAPTER 2

Rown stepped into the dining room, for once not the last to arrive. Liam and Lianne chatted companionably across the table, the closest siblings of the bunch, and Kalasin sat beside Shinko who proudly displayed her belly bump, the beginning of the next generation of Conte's. Rown sank into her seat towards the end of the table across from the Yamani, always finding it fitting that the non-Conte's were always stuck together. Then Roald and Jasson arrived with Thayet, walking in behind their mother. Rown caught her breath at the sight of the queen; years of governing the country and raising a whole brood of children had done nothing to mar the magnificence of Tortall's queen. It was no wonder that all the soldiers of the kingdom sang songs of her beauty as they marched into battle.

Thayet took her place at the head of the table where she always sat for these informal 'mother' dinners. Jasson sat down next to Rown, and Roald took his place on her other side at the foot of the table. Jasson, the youngest Conte, said a quick prayer to the gods for the meal that had already been laid on the table—the orphan knew that he would have become a Mithrian priest years ago if he did not feel so honor bound to study law and war with his siblings in the rare event that the kingship fell to him. But with Roald's heir on the way, Rown was already preparing for her closest 'cousin' to leave for a monastic life.

Under the pretense of drinking her watered wine, the extra princess surveyed the others. Roald, the beaming father-to-be, could hardly tear his eyes from his bride; already he had an aura of power, though not yet as strong as Jonathan's. Kalasin, the perfectly exquisite princess, could possibly be marrying some far off prince in the near future. Liam was squire to his father, and Lianne, in the service of her mother.

And then there was Rown. Though her blue eyes could have been of Conte, her golden brown locks separated her from the bunch. And her lack of direction, it seemed. All the Conte children had a purpose, a duty they had been born and raised to assume. Rown felt as she always did at these monthly dinners with her adopted family, that she was an outsider taken from one happy life and thrust into another where she was lost in the shuffle. The girl was not really a princess but certainly more like one than most other noble children—she was the last of her line with no fief or people to return to.

Rown sighed once more, picking at her food in an attempt to dodge conversation. She listened to the warm inquiries on Shinko and the baby's health made by all, the update on current affairs was given by the boys of the brood, and Kalasin commented on the upcoming social season, only two months away directly after the fiefs had harvested and left the fields bare for the winter. The last topic made Rown shudder, partly since Cantre's lands were probably overgrown by now and mention of fiefs caused her fleeting moments of guilt, but also because she would be turning seventeen in a few weeks, in the prime of marrying age right as social season began.

The orphan's line of thought was broken abruptly by the entrance of King Jonathan. Everyone looked up at his unexpected appearance, and Thayet ventured to ask calmly, "What is it, dear?" These family dinners were her affair, and he had never interrupted before.

"The pirates again," he sighed. "Alanna sent a message up from the Swoop that all the villages along the coast have been hit badly, and she requests organized help. Raoul's got Second and Third Companies of the Own readying, and I need your advice on the best use of the Riders. Could you join me in the war room, love?"

"Certainly," the Queen replied, "we were almost finished anyway." She rose and took her husband's arm, leaving the room with him. "What are the pirates up to now?" drifted back through the open door.

The Conte children followed suit. Roald helped his wife up and kissed her cheek, leading her to the door with a promise to rejoin her soon. The heir was followed by Liam and Lianne headed out towards the war room to offer their assistance in any way. The other two drifted in the other direction to the royal family's wing. Rown was left alone once more.

* * *

Rown left her room the next morning with her hair pinned up and wearing a clean, deep purple dress, a simple outfit for her to attend classes. Jonathan and Thayet had begun a school for all children at the palace who wanted to go, noble or not; in the morning they could have lessons while the pages were practicing their fighting, and in the afternoon they could continue with private tutors or do whatever they and their parents wished.

But today, Rown wanted none of it. The princess strode down the hall, keeping watch for anyone who might happen upon her. Reaching a seldom used corridor where double rows of stone columns created shadowed corners, she ducked into one dark space. She ripped her dress off and stuffed it into a decorative vase, revealing the breeches and simple homespun shirt she wore underneath. The princess shook out her hair and tossed the pins in the urn along with her thin slippers, pulling out a hidden pair of tall boots.

Checking the hall for people, she set out for the stables, taking the pathways were few went and skirting around the main corridors. Rown made it outside and almost to the barn door when a familiar voice rang out, "Princess, fancy meeting you here—especially with all the studies you have to do."

Stopped with her hand on the stable door, she replied, "I'm just on my way as no doubt you are. A knight's life is busy, is it not?" She did not want to face him today.

"Ah, but not as busy as a princesses I would guess," Sir Cole of Newfaine countered as he tugged his horse forward by the reins, striding closer to the girl. "And since you wouldn't be trying to run off again, would you mind an escort to Sir Myles' history lesson?"

"Yes, I would," Rown replied forcefully, turning to meet him with a pleading glance. She wished he would just walk away as if he had never seen her and let her escape.

Cole's eyes were expressionless and unwavering. He whistled for a stable boy, and one came tumbling out. To Rown's surprise, it was the dark haired boy who had spoken to her the previous day. As Cliff took the horse's reins and led the animal back into the stable, he gave the girl a long, direct look.

Meanwhile, the knight held out a hand, and Rown's only choices became take it or run. Since running would only lead to an easy recapture and a reprimand from either Jonathan or Thayet when one of them had a spare moment, she accepted his arm with a defiant glare and strode like an angry cat beside him.

Nodding at the people who bowed and curtseyed to the passing Knight and his lady, Rown bared her teeth in a tight smile. "Why do you do this to me?" she muttered between gritted teeth.

"Only doing my duty, princess," he replied gently, giving the barest glance down at the top of her head as he led her on.

"Please don't call me that." Rown's smile faded, and three palace workers in green and gold livery scurried out of their way. The rest of the walk was spent in stony faced silence. The princess' eyes were glazed over by the time they reached the classroom door. Cole left her with a small bow, the same one he had done for her ever since becoming a squire to her father when she was a toddler. Rown pushed open the door, ten minutes late to her lesson.

As Rown walked in, the strange looks everyone shot her reminded the princess that she was still wearing pants. Blushing self-consciously, she stuck her chin in the air and drifted over to the last open seat, front and center. Most of Rown's classmates were the children of palace workers who could spend a half day in study thanks to the new child labor laws. A few noble daughters, like Rown herself, did attend, coming from families that were open-minded enough to let them associate with the 'lower' classes. Jasson did not; the Conte that was only three months older than Rown had given up public school to shadow his father's work. The middle three were taking their places in court and public life, and Roald was, of course, a knight now and working with his father to prepare for his own kingship one day.

The graying Sir Myles' lecture had trailed off at Rown's entrance, but he picked it right up again without commenting on her tardiness. The princess felt a little guilty; history truly was her favorite subject and Sir Myles, her favorite teacher. She could not help that Sir Cole had ruined her plan for a ride. Angry thoughts distracted her for the rest of class; luckily the topic was the effects of the Scanran war on the people of Tortall, one conflict she was well versed in.

At the end, she filed out quickly with the rest of the class, pretending she did not hear Myles calling for her to stay a moment. She was off to change into skirts before Lindhall's class.


	4. Encounters

CHAPTER 3

Right before lunch, they had to endure 'exercise time' when the ladies of the class were forced to stroll the gardens to get fresh air. Outside, Rown noticed one pleasantly familiar face. Cara of Aramilt was well liked among everyone, male and female, noble and common, rule breaker and straight arrow. Her reddish brown hair was pulled up in a bun to expose the perfectly cream-colored skin of her neck and shoulders.

Rown walked behind her for awhile before deciding to catch up. "Hello," was her soft greeting.

Cara's head turned, and warm brown eyes flecked with gold lit up in a friendly manner. "Hi, how are you?" was her gentle reply. Known for her exceptional singing ability, her voice had a musical tone with a moderate rhythm. They strolled along with other classmates, making pleasant conversation about silly court gossip and a large mathematics assignment that was due the next day. Cara was the closest thing Rown had to a girl-friend. The pair parted at lunch, Rown heading to the food line alone. When she was younger, the young noble girls had always flocked to her, trying to get an 'in' with a princess. Rown could be sociable when necessary, but she did not take kindly to these flatterers, and they got the point quickly. The adopted princess was best left alone.

Once she had filled her tray, the orphan stepped over to her favorite lunch table only to see that a group of unfamiliar people were standing near it. Rown went ahead and sat down, wrestling a book out of a hidden pocket in her skirts. Opening it to where a ribbon marked her place and munching on a roll, she felt someone staring at her.

Rown looked up, meeting the gaze of a girl staring straight at her with eyes as cold as her face. The girl shook her head, causing obviously dyed, shoulder-length blonde hair to twitch. Loudly to her friends, she announced, "We'll have to find somewhere else to sit." She stared expectantly at Rown.

The princess' arm begged to smack that look off of her face. Her tight mouth pleaded to scream 'I am a princess—how dare you speak to me like that?' Rown's hand trembled, wishing to turn a bowl of stew over the girl's head. But instead, Rown said curtly, "I'll move."

She stood, cradling her book in her arm and steadily carrying her tray of food back to the counter. From there she fled, not wanting a confrontation to ruin the rest of her day. The orphan instead headed to the practice courts, hoping to find a friendly face or, at the very least, some entertainment.

The midsummer sun felt good on her face and warmed the skin hidden under blue silk. Rown strolled purposefully down the gravel path to the main court where she heard a large crowd before she could even see it. A duel of some sort seemed to be going on and the princess was anxious to glimpse the combatants.

Pushing her way to the front of the gathered soldiers and stablehands, who all courteously made room for her as soon as they saw it was a lady shoving them aside, Rown identified Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan fighting a man the girl did not know. She looked at the Lady Knight wistfully—she was a heroine at twenty-five and still unmarried, and no one seemed to care. She had earned respect by spilling blood, her own and that of many enemies, for Tortall. The orphan felt a pang of regret; she should have become a warrior—a knight or Rider. A true fighter would have been able to revive Cantre and bring glory back to its name.

But Rown was too late for that. Years of more interest in books than swords left her much too soft for weapons training—not to mention that the orphan of war was slightly skittish of fighting in the first place. Besides, her old, conservative babysitter Sir Cole would never let her risk her neck anyway.

Lost in her thoughts, the girl did not see the fight end, only learning of the victor by the cheers of "Lady Knight!" and "Kel!" that erupted. She smiled to herself, pleased with such a result and strolled down the path to observe the other fights taking place in the smaller arenas nearby. As the pages were in their afternoon classes, all of the courts were full of knights and squires, soldiers and guardsmen, all eager to hone their skills with sword, spear, hand, and even bow in the archery court. Rown paused at the end of the tiltyard where a few men hung over a rail to watch a knight and a squire face off; she could tell their ranks mostly because the squire already had a dusting of arena sand on the back of his practice armor but had remounted and now listened as his knight master gave his critique and further instructions.

A few of the gathered knights glanced at her curiously as she walked up, lifting her skirts up to her ankles so she could step over a mud puddle to get to the railing a few yards away from them. Two young men who wore the blue uniform of the King's Own mumbled to each other for a few moments, and then one called out with a rakish grin, "Fair Lady, shall I escort you to the next ball? We are already dressed to match." Rown looked at him, slightly startled; her dress was indeed the rich blue of the Own, with silver working on the bodice, but it had never drawn such attention before.

Before she could reply, however, one of the knights sharply whispered, "Princess Rown!" The soldier's eyes widened a little and he gave a small bow in her direction, mumbling something along the lines of "excuse me, princess," and ducked away.

Rown sighed sadly. She hated when people knew who she was and supposed things about her. The orphan just wished she had a clean slate: no one she knew, no one with preconceived judgments about her, no one who had known her in these difficult years of trying to fit in as a princess. Her gloomy eyes, along with those of the lingering knights, wandered back to the tilting pair who were lining up to charge.

The horses started off at the wave of a flag, and they thundered down upon each other on opposite sides of a long fence. The riders lowered their practice lances, holding them steadily at their sides and aiming for each other's shield. The squire's lance glanced off of his opponent while the knight's splintered on impact. The squire was thrown against the high back of his tilting saddle but was not unhorsed; the knights near Rown gave an approving rumble while an assembled party of squires on the other side of the yard cheered for their friend.

The tilters had slowed their mounts and trotted back to each other, the knight beaming down at his squire. With a hearty congratulatory pat on the squire's shoulder, the pair walked their horses to the entrance of the barn and dismounted, the squire taking both horses' reins and leading them inside. The knight marched over to the group of knights near Rown, and as he approached, she recognized Sir Rafe of Vernon's Hills. That meant the squire was Connor of Fieldings

With this realization, Rown's day had brightened considerably.

* * *

She had met Squire Conner in the palace library about four months ago. She had been looking for a book on foreign policy under the reign of Charles I four-hundred odd years ago when Connor walked into this back corner of the history section and found her unsteadily climbing up old wooden shelves to reach the book above. With a laugh, he offered to retrieve the book for her. She thanked him and scurried off with her new treasure without bothering to exchange names.

She next saw him at a ball in the spring, one that Thayet had specifically asked her to attend. The adopted princess had tried to spend her night discussing theology with Jasson but was thwarted when the Queen had pointedly said, "Jasson, you haven't mingled all night. You shouldn't spend all of your conversation on your cousin." The prince obligingly left to talk with some other intellectual university types while Rown was left to fend for herself. She stood awkwardly alone in the great hall full of people, gazing about as if she were dazed by the splendor, until she saw the squire in his pale green and cream tunic again. With a quick glance at Thayet, who was watching the princess from the corner of her eye even as she talked to Sir Raoul and his short wife Buri, Rown strode across the room.

The girl caught herself halfway and changed her stride to a glide instead; she was capable of acting the part of a perfect lady or otherwise as she desired. Using the feminine charms she had learned in her princess-years of etiquette training, she demurely approached the small party of squires and fresh-from-the-convent ladies being entertained by them. Rown met the eyes of the boy she sought with a cool blue gaze, and he was instantly compelled to bow and introduce himself as Connor of Fieldings. She curtsied in return, knowing that all the eyes of this group were on her as they judged her boldness. "I am Rown of Cantre. Squire Connor, if you are not previously occupied, could I have this next dance?" The princess could have embellished it more, made it more courtly and flowery, but the sentence managed to serve her purpose well enough.

Connor looked stunned at this invitation, and the convent girls and squires behind him were whispering and giggling amongst themselves in wicked delight—what a scandalous scene they were witnessing! A princess asking a mere squire to dance with her! The poor squire could do nothing but accept and offer his arm to her. Rown took it and was led to the dance floor for a quick three-step. She really did enjoy dancing, though with a new person it was always strange to adjust to their movement. Luckily, the squire proved to be an excellent partner, so the princess had only to let him lead the way.


	5. Conversation

Author's Note: Longer chapter as requested. Please review--it is such an encouragement to continue :)

CHAPTER 4

The princess was impressed by her partner's dancing skill; so many of the squires and knights she had been forced to dance with had had two left feet. For once she could truly enjoy the music and the steps.

From up close Rown could examine Connor's grey-hazel eyes and short-cropped sandy brown hair. The squire was decent looking, maybe even handsome to some eyes, so that was one mark for him; they had met in a library, which meant that he at least knew what books were, two; and there he had been most polite, so three tally marks were now alongside his name in Rown's mind.

The dancing pair fell into the rhythm effortlessly and now turned to conversation, the usual practice of young couples. Conner spoke first simply because Rown waited for him to. "I don't know if you remember, princess—" he began formally.

"That we met before?" Rown cut in innocently. "In the library. Yes, that is why I picked you tonight."

The boy had a nervous grin on his face. "Yes, well, thank you for the honor. I've never… um… no lady has ever walked up to me. You are very…" he struggled for the next word.

"Bold? Improper? Shameful?" she replied with a swift tongue disguised by a honey-sweet voice. Her eyes still held his with her mock-innocent gaze.

Connor replied quickly, "I was going to say courageous, actually, for you to approach me down like that. I had always heard you were shy, and I figured it was true considering how you ran off when we first met."

Rown looked away for a moment, somewhere over his shoulder just to break eye contact. She felt like she was being confronted. Her reputation of quiet eccentricity had won again. Would she ever be able to change without everyone thinking her strange? The orphan sighed and gave a small smile that might have looked like a wince as she met the boy's grey gaze again. "Sorry about that. I can have a one track mind when I'm thinking about history. What were you doing there?"

"I was searching for a book that Sir Myles recommended to me. It was on…" his brow furrowed as he tried to remember the topic. "I think it was a new book on the Immortals War, by Malcolm of Somewhere."

Rown was interested. "_After the Immortals: The Actions and Reactions of Tortall's King and People_ by Malcolm of Maudlin?" she asked.

A little surprised, the squire nodded. "Yes, that sounds right. But I couldn't find it."

Sheepishly, the princess replied, "That's because I have the library's copy in my room. You can come by and take it sometime; I've already gotten my notes from it."

"Notes?"

"I'm writing a large research project for Sir Myles' class about the effects of the Scanran Wars on the fiefs of northern Tortall. I needed the book to assess changes in war policies and techniques during the previous conflict."

"Oh. Interesting." That was all he could say. He had guessed, and rightly so, that this train of conversation skirted too closely to the topic of Rown's family's death. Or maybe he was just intimidated by her academic side.

Either way, the girl asked a question to change the subject. "How do you like being a squire? You know, all work and no play make Connor a dull boy," she said, bordering on flirtatiousness. She wanted to clear both of their minds of any serious subject.

"It is a learning experience," he said delicately. "Sir Rafe is a good knight master, and we spent most of our time last year in the Wylde Forest outside Lorious trying to clean out a group of bandits. They're a tough bunch though."

Rown smiled politely. "And you mentioned that Sir Myles had recommended that book to you. Are you close to him?"

"He was my favorite teacher as a page. I used to stay after class and talk politics with him. Whenever I'm in the palace I visit him, and he always has a new list of books for me to read."

"Then I'll make sure to send that book to you. The chapters on Uncle—I mean, King Jonathan will tell you a lot about the formation of his Immortal Policy Act." With those words, the dance had ended. The squire gently released Rown and bowed to her.

After her return curtsey, Connor took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Thank you, princess," he murmured. Rown gave him a last, quick smile and walked back to the dais alone. Queen Thayet smiled at her as she passed by, pleased that this quiet adopted princess had had some sort of social interaction this evening.

Feeling as though her obligation was done, the orphan left the ball through a back door and headed to her rooms. Back in her sitting room, she scanned the titles of the books crammed into her shelves and found the text that Connor had been looking for. Rown then paced up and down the halls in her ball gown until she found a pair of small pages, probably only first years, wandering around.

Motioning them to her, she asked, "Would you mind delivering this to Squire Connor of Fieldings' room?"

The pages bowed and accepted the offered book. "Of course, milady," one said before they scampered off together. The princess returned to her rooms with some things to think over.

* * *

It turned out that Connor's horse was stabled four stalls down from Rown's. Two days after the ball, she had walked in to visit Bud and saw him packing his saddlebags and leaving the barn to join his waiting knight master outside. The pair had ridden off to the gods knew where; the girl had not been able to discreetly ask anyone where the squire had been stationed for the past few months.

But now it did not matter because Connor was back at the palace and practicing the tilt. And, since he had retreated into that same barn, the princess was able to walk in nonchalantly to visit her own horse.

Rown strode down the central aisle with a dignified tread, skirting the group of squires chatting around Connor's horse's stall. Her object was grooming his horse while his friends congratulated him on holding his own against his knight master and gossiped about their own training. One of the boys spotted her, a tall, lean squire dressed in Goldenlake colors which meant that he was Alan of Pirate's Swoop, the son of Sir Alanna. Since her adopted family was so close with the Lioness and Baron George, he knew Rown at once. Alan made a motion with his hand that quieted the others and then whispered something too softly for the princess to hear, but she assumed that it had to do with who she was because the squires all gave shallow bows and murmured 'good afternoons' in her direction.

She received their attentions with an incline of the head and the reply, "Lovely day isn't it?" Her eyes met Connor's grey ones, and she hoped her message was clear.

Alan noticed right away and announced loudly, "Yes, such nice weather. Let's go enjoy it, boys." The girl blessed his quick-wit and tact as the boys filed back out into the sunshine throwing knowing smirks to Connor as they left.

"Can I help you, Princess Rown? Perhaps there is a bridle out of reach I could get you," the squire said, a smile in his eye as he continued to brush his gelding.

Rown was a little surprised that he was already comfortable teasing her but recovered quickly. She did not have many friends to banter with, and here was an opportunity for fun. "Don't worry—I've already had the stablehands move all of my tack to the lowest racks," she answered, continuing the inside joke. "But actually, I just saw your last run, and I wanted to tell you what a great ride you had."

"Here I was under the impression that you were just walking past and thought to say hello to a bunch of squires, but instead it seems that you are on the hunt again," the boy stated as he ducked out of the stall, finished grooming.

The princess' eyebrow went up in askance. "Excuse me? What do you mean by me 'hunting'?"

He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, a relaxed grin on his face. "You picked me out that night at the ball—looked down from your high dais with your bird's eye view of the room and chose me as your prey, like a Falcon or something. Today you search me out again."

"Although I find it very offensive to my feminine self to be compared to a bird of prey, in the interest of accuracy we must remember that it was nighttime at the ball, so I think I would have to be an Owl, a nocturnal hunter," she replied sweetly, letting only a hint of amusement show on her face even as she smiled broadly on the inside.

"Be that as it may, I grew up with a father with a great interest in falconry and I must protest that you may have been born into the wrong species."

Rown retorted dryly, "And I have had Master Lindhall teaching me about all sorts of creatures for the past six years. Let me assure you that I always did my reading assignments."

"I don't doubt it," he answered. Connor stood up straight, away from the wall, and slowly reached down for his grooming bucket full of brushes, combs, and picks; the girl knew that his bruised body probably protested every movement, although the squire never let it on. He walked past her, heading to the tack room to stow the bucket there.

"You're much more charming when you're beaten and sore," she told him sarcastically. After a moment's pause, she followed him.

Without looking back, the squire seemed to know she was following. "Your confidence doesn't seem to fail you when you're on the hunt, princess."

The girl chose to ignore that statement. "Did you get the book I sent you?" She paused in the doorway to the tack room after he entered.

"Yes, thank you, it was most informative. But Sir Myles is always right about books," his voice came from the depths of the room. When he reappeared in front of Rown, his face had a much more serious look; all of the sudden she could tell he was tired and sore and wanted to go relax.

"I'll let you go to the bathhouse now; I just wanted to make sure you got the book."

The squire's wry smile came back as he told her, "I didn't know that the princess was holding me hostage."

The girl snorted in a most un-princess-like manner. "Well, you're released either way. And call me Rown, please."

"No," Connor said abruptly, "I don't think I will." He strode away down the aisle, leaving a stunned Rown in his wake.

Despite her reserve, she called, "What will you call me then?"

He looked back for only a second to answer, "A Falcon." And then he was gone, back outside where the fighting men of the palace were practicing.

"Owl," Rown said.

"Excuse me?" a soft, yet strong voice asked from behind her. She started in surprise and turned to see that black-haired stable boy Cliff standing there.

"Oh nothing—sorry," the princess told him before walking to Bud's stall and opening the door to reach in to stroke her horse's nose. He was shining from an immaculate grooming; Rown only briefly wondered who had done it before her mind wandered to other things, like a certain squire who treated her like an intelligent person… and who seemed to be a smart, handsome man himself.


	6. Gossip

Author's Note: Thank you all for the positive feedback. I want to reiterate that this story is about Rown growing up and finidng her place in the world, which means that I want her to change thoughout the course of the plot. If you think she is spoiled and immature, that is because she is to begin with. And I'm sure that along the way there will be relationships--with whom I do not dare say... yet! I do sincerely hope that you all keep reading and enjoying :)

CHAPTER 5

Days and then weeks went past where Rown did not see Squire Connor. She went about her life as though she had never met him—going to classes, reading, working on her Scanran War paper for Sir Myles, walking around the palace grounds, riding Bud. It was all easy and familiar, but now seemed empty.

Rown sought out Cara of Aramilt sometimes, the closest thing she had to a friend. They ate dinner together in the great hall a few nights a week when the princess wanted a full meal rather than a meat-and-cheese pasty begged off the cooks later. The girls could talk about classes and the people in them; Cara knew all the gossip since she talked to everyone, but she always doubted the accuracy of the more shocking items because she was also a friend to everyone. These conversations were pleasant, but not particularly exciting or interesting. The orphan was never left craving more or spending hours puzzling over Cara's words like she did with Connor's.

But why this obsession with the squire? She had seen him only thrice before. Rown was somehow fascinated by this boy who could treat her like a princess but also be so informal as to joke with her, all making it seem easy. He knew how to talk to her while she had not the slightest idea what to do with him. As confident a huntress as he seemed to think her, she was now nervous of the next time they would meet: what should she say and do? What if he had already lost interest in this odd, bookish orphan who masqueraded as a princess?

As much as she thought about it, she hardly had to worry. Connor had disappeared from the face of the earth, and Rown was left alone to wonder what could have happened.

* * *

One afternoon, Rown was strolling around the palace practice courts looking for Connor, although in appearance she seemed to be there to watch Lady Knight Kel and the Yamani ladies dance with their deadly fans. Shinko, as large as ever with the next heir of Tortall in her belly, was taking it easy and not attempting the more complicated movements. It was from her seat on the wooden viewers' bench that Rown first saw Sir Cole walking toward her. The princess had not taken any unescorted rides out to the forest recently because she had had other things to occupy her time, so the knight and girl had not exchanged a word for weeks.

"Sir Cole," she said as soon as he was in hearing range, "how lovely to see you." The girl's voice was dripping with sarcasm, but the knight seemed not to care—he was actually _smiling_ for once, and it seemed to be directed at her.

"And you too, princess." He gave a shallow bow when he reached her, and Rown could see the merriment dancing in his eyes. "I've been meaning to talk to you but have not had the usual occasion to do so," he began, making a joke at her expense. "Nevertheless, I have heard some surprising talk about you recently, and I hope it is true for once."

Rown replied resentfully to his good humor, "Well, there are two surprises already: one, that you listen to court gossip being a big, strong man as you are, and two, that any one of the gossips could have anything to say about me." She met his dark eyes with her best piercing blue gaze, just daring him to keep playing with her.

Luckily, Cole had the good sense to get to the point quickly. "I must say that I was more than surprised to hear this news and rather pleased as well. I've heard that you and Squire Connor of Fieldings are courting, and I approve."

The princess stood swiftly, only coming up to the knight's shoulder but nonetheless intimidating when angry. She refused to discuss her meetings with the squire with Sir Cole. "I don't know who or what your sources are, but it is a lie."

The knight hardly seemed fazed; he was more than used to the girl's temper and secrecy about her private life. Still, to respect discretion he lowered his voice as he continued, "Whatever you may say now, I just want to tell you that this is a good match, Rown. His family is well-off, and he is the eldest son—"

"It's not—" she hissed at him, but Sir Cole went on.

"Sir Rafe also speaks highly of the lad, but I must tell you that there are certain ways to go about these things. I know you haven't had the most proper of upbringings, even though the queen does her best, and you might be confused about matters of courting…" He had to stop and clear his throat before speaking even more quietly. "You must be aware of where you are and what you are doing with this boy. You simply cannot meet in barns," he winced as he said it, "or even be alone with him, not this early on, at least. You must not compromise—"

Here Rown snapped. "You are mistaken, sir. There is absolutely nothing at risk of being 'compromised,' and I hardly even know this squire. I have to go." She brushed past her guardian and half-ran towards her rooms where only some books and an old hound dog waited for her. Nothing there would question her.

But as she headed that way, she passed the stables where Bud was kept and skidded to a halt. A stable hand was leading her little bay horse out the main door. The princess stomped over and almost yelled, "What do you think you are doing?"

The boy halted the animal with a gentle pressure on the reins before looking up at her. The hazel eyes of Cliff met hers unflinchingly. "I got your horse ready for ya. You were coming this way, and I reckoned that you'd like ta ride."

Realizing that a ride sounded really pleasant right now, and a little stunned that he had seemingly read her mind, Rown could only reply, "Well, thank you." Cliff tossed the reins over Bud's neck and silently offered his intertwined hands as a mounting step. The girl marched to the horse's left side, briefly noticing that he wore a side-saddle that Rown rarely used but was somehow shiny from a recent cleaning, and placed her foot in the boy's hands. She jumped on her other foot, and the stable hand pushed her up to sit comfortably in the saddle. Cliff held the girl's stirrup steady while she slid her booted foot in, and he gently helped her rearrange her skirts now folded to the side.

Their eyes met again as Rown picked up the reins. She nodded her thanks once more, and he bowed low, staying bent until Bud walked past. Cliff only looked back once before retreating into the barn.

The princess puzzled over this strange stable hand who knew her and her horse so well. Had he been the one grooming Bud and cleaning tack for her? She looked down at the back of her horse's head and wished she had Wild Magic like Daine so she could ask and get the answer straight from the horse's mouth.

Rown then had to consider where to go. She did not have anyone to ride with, and she sure did not want to be chased down by Sir Cole right now, so she aimed her mount towards the riding arena—a place on the palace groups where horses and riders could be trained to do war movements or to jump obstacles.

Four horse-and-rider pairs were working on some cavalry patterns at the far end, and no spectators were there this afternoon; there was plenty of room for her to jump as she pleased. The girl squeezed Bud into a warm-up trot, letting the familiar motion soothe her uneasy mind. She noted the obstacles that were set up—a cross-rail 'x' jump, a low wooden box, a pile of long branches, a trimmed medium sized hedge, and a formidable-looking stone wall. Rown traced out a winding course in her head and started Bud towards the cross-rail, their first jump. After they landed on the other side, she kicked him into a canter, a three beat rocking-horse gait that was so smooth to ride on her little horse.

The pair took the hedge next, then the branches, the 'x' again, and the stone wall. With each, Rown aimed Bud straight at the obstacle and then held him back, making him wait to take each jump instead of rushing to it and falling over his own feet. She pointed him to the last jump in her course plan, the long wooden box jump; they cleared it easily and Rown let him run a bit afterwards, stretching his legs into a victory hand gallop.

The princess pulled him down to a walk after two trips around the ring. Some of the other riders looked at her amusedly—a finely-dressed young lady sitting side-saddle who was jumping and galloping with her hair blowing in the wind behind her. Despite their presence, Rown had a wonderful time; her mind had been cleared of Connor and Cole and Cliff for a few moments.

She loosened her reins to let Bud stretch his neck as he walked in circles to cool-down. When he had stopped breathing hard, Rown rode him back to the barn, sliding down from the saddle without assistance and taking his reins firmly in hand. She wanted to untack and groom him herself, not allowing Cliff to do it like she was some gentle lady who could not be bothered with such dirty details. Yet she did not encounter the stable hand as she carried the sweaty tack to the storage room or set about grooming Bud from head to hoof. The girl was able to leave the barn and retire to the bathhouse in solitary peace.

* * *

When Rown returned to her rooms, she found a note waiting for her on her sitting room table. The beautiful handwriting of Queen Thayet, her adopted aunt, spelled out her name on the front. The piece of parchment was only folded, not sealed with wax, so Rown knew it was not too important.

The princess opened the letter and scanned the short message.

_Rown,_

_I have made a dress-fitting appointment for you at Lalasa's shop in the city for next week. You will need four or five new gowns for this season—the birth of Roald and Shinko's child and the coming of the Carthaki delegation for Kalasin's marriage alliance will call for your presence at a number of balls. I sent the dressmakers some specifications, but you may make a __few__ alterations._

_Jasson will accompany you to town with two men. No sneaking off._

_Thayet_

The girl sighed. The dresses would probably be designed for the height of fashion because of her adopted royal status and therefore probably very uncomfortable. Plus, delegations always meant dancing; she had been too young for the Yamani balls, but now she was the perfect age for entertaining foreign ambassadors.

Well, at least she would be able to spend an afternoon out with Jasson; she had not seen him lately because he was spending so much time with his brothers and father, learning about running the country. Dress-fittings were never too bad, and Lalasa was a kind and skillful woman who could get through the prodding and pinning quickly and painlessly.

Rown decided that she would go and not pitch a fit. It was something to distract her for the time being.


End file.
